


In Other Words

by justbreathe



Category: Captain America, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe/pseuds/justbreathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Is this the home of miss Peggy Carter?"</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>The young woman stared at him a moment longer, and Steve looked back up at her, wondering if he had indeed been too late. But then her ankles crossed, and she shifted back, and glanced over her shoulder.</i></p><p>  <i>"May I ask who's calling?" Steve's heart stopped in his chest, and he choked on a breath, silently.</i></p><p>  <i>"Steve Rogers." Not Captain America. Never just Captain America.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Other Words

It had taken him a long time. Long enough, perhaps, that he had almost expected for things to have changed, for her to not be there. Long enough that when he knocked, and a young woman who looked nothing like her opened the door, his heart had actually fluttered. With hope, with anxiety, whatever it was he didn't want to think about. The prim woman stared at him for a moment, and he found himself staring right back, at the way the light reflected off her blonde curls, the minute pursing of her lips, the question in her cornflower eyes.

Steve cleared his throat, glanced down at the plastic-encircled bouquet in his hands, and took a slow breath.

"Is this the home of miss Peggy Carter?"

The young woman stared at him a moment longer, and Steve looked back up at her, wondering if he had indeed been too late. But then her ankles crossed, and she shifted back, and glanced over her shoulder.

"May I ask who's calling?" Steve's heart stopped in his chest, and he choked on a breath, silently.

"Steve Rogers." Not Captain America. Never just Captain America.

Blonde hair bounced away, the door left cracked, and a moment later she returned to open the screen door and stand back to let him in.

"She's in the sitting room," said a sharp Eastern accent, head nodded behind her and to the left, and Steve thanked her quietly, conscious suddenly of the sound of wood creaking under his own heavy feet, the way his pulse thrummed in his temples, and the scent of age and wax and lilies. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, the same ones that had plagued him, each in their turn, over the past months, all of them crashing down at once. _What if she doesn't remember me? What if she doesn't want to see me? How much has changed? Too much? Will she be angry? Sad? Will it hurt her to see how young I am? Maybe I shouldn't have come. Maybe she would have preferred me to remember her as she was..._

He couldn't breathe, his head spinning gently as he made his way through the house. Faded mint-green carpet marked the boundary between the hallway and the sitting room, a small window covered by a lace curtain visible against the far wall, a round endtable under it adorned with porcelain. A folded American flag in a glass frame sat in a china cabinet, surrounded by memorabilia, on one side hung a pressed green officer's uniform, and...a small poster, dated, signed...of him.

When he finally managed to look into the room, his eyes led a trail to a plush chair in a corner, and as Steve shivered, Peggy smiled.

"Steve."

The word was whispered, the sound of tears in the back of her throat, and both Steve and the young woman moved forward as Peggy worked her way out of her chair. She waved a hand at them both, however, as though she were to swat at them, and while the young woman moved back at her name Steve was too busy noticing the stoop of her back, the colour of her skin, the way it fell over her like water, or like so much fabric, draped across a spindly form. Her eyes, however, when she finally caught his, sparkled like stars, and suddenly Steve was gaping.

"Are those for me?" Her voice cracked, but the smirk was unmistakable, and it was seeing that which snapped him out of his reverie. She waited patiently, smiling at him, as he glanced down at them, stuttered, shifted awkwardly. Still the same old Steve.

"Um - I - yes," he concluded, finally, and offered them to her. He was actually blushing, and she could see it as much as he could feel it. His ears were on fire, and hands which were still strong accepted the bouquet, unashamed to touch him, left his own fingers reaching for her even as she pulled the flowers to herself and nuzzled them. Like a girl, as though time had not even touched her. Smiling at her caretaker - as Steve had concluded she must be - she nodded her head a little.

"Amelia, go get a vase for these, would you?" Soft feet left them alone, suddenly, and, still smiling, Peggy gestured to a chair at the tea table just next to the window. "Well, sit down, won't you! You have a lot to catch me up on! All these adventures..." _He_ had...? Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. Not this woman, who was every inch his Peggy, although someone had taken her soul and put it into the rickety body of a different being entirely. Her strength was still evident, her pride, as she sat carefully and gave him an expectant, if slightly skeptical, look. She was asking him about himself, as though he had the stories rather than she, she who must have decades of things she wanted to share with him. But, unable to contest, Steve found himself sitting as well, and crossing his hands neatly on the table. They watched each other for a moment, both taking the time to truly observe the being before them, and Amelia returned, took the flowers, and gave Steve a little smile this time. Steve was far too occupied to notice this, although Peggy gave her a slightly knowing look. No, the man was busy watching the way the sunlight crept in the window, patterns of lace dappling the shadows - so many shadows - of Peggy's face, the curve of her thinned lips, the bones and sinew of her single visible hand, the powdered grey of her hair and the way the short strands frazzled around her head. Once more, her eyes caught him, as though catching a child at some mischief, and he found himself shifting back again, just like that child. Doing something he shouldn't be. Staring. How impolite, little boy. She'd _always_ made him feel like that, though, from time to time.

"It's...nice to see you," he managed, softly, and started as she laughed. Bright, merry laughter, which made him stare at his shoes. She rocked in her chair, gently, evidently quite pleased with something, amused to no end, and he turned to her again as the hand he'd been staring at pressed against his forearm.

"That's the first thing you say to me, Steven Rogers?" For the first time since he'd walked in, there were tears in her voice, but when he looked back at her she was still grinning. "After leaving me alone for so long, all you can think to say is 'It's nice to see you?'" Still amused, not really hurt, not really, she continued, softer, after a moment. "I missed you, too." Steve found himself staring again, and finally, finally, smiled, just a little.

Slowly, they began to talk. Peggy insisted he begin by telling her of the adventures he'd had more recently, accurate, vivid retellings of his time with The Avengers, 'not that stuff on the news'. She didn't say much herself, although in the hour they spent together they were already laughing at one another, so much that Amelia hid herself in the hallway and smiled along with them. Every time she heard Peggy laugh, she had to stifle her own peals. It was _so good_ to see her happy.

"I owe you a dance." He hadn't meant to say it, he'd not even thought it since he walked in, but it happened, spilled off his tongue before he could catch it. It stopped their laughter, and for a moment they watched one another, smiles slowly fading. Eventually, Peggy nodded, her lips tilting gently but genuinely, a hand waved toward the direction of the china cabinet.

"I have some old records over there. Choose one," she instructed without question, and Steve barely hesitated, although he let his surprised gape settle as he did as she asked. Various albums were browsed quickly through, and Johnny Mathis chosen as the best candidate. They weren't going to swing, after all...at least...Steve didn't want to. The record listing browsed, he frowned a little at the idea...and then decided to go through with it. What harm could come, after all? After all this time...

A soft scratch from the record pin, and Steve closed his eyes as he waited for Peggy to stand, listened to the shift and creak of her behind him. Living, a living thing, with a heartbeat, and breath that struggled slightly. As the first few strains hummed quietly out, to the floating rhythm of harp, he swept his way back to her, took her offered hand, and pulled her gently close.

She smiled at him as he stepped slowly side to side with her, leading her in gradual circles around the room. At ninety years old, she was still a better dancer than him. But while Johnny sang of other words, of the most beautiful and desirous things of the universe, she kept her eyes on his, her chin upturned, her grasp on his much larger hand firm. She'd waited seventy years for this, and so had he.

There were tears in their eyes when they stopped, heads bent in unison, Peggy's to hide against his chest and Steve's to hide in her hair.

"I'll visit you every day," he whispered, a promise, and she laughed at him, genially, the short sound of a cynic.

"No you won't." At first, it seemed like a refusal, until she turned her blurred gaze up to him once more, shifted back just enough to show him that spirited smirk. "You'll visit me once a week. Every Saturday at one o'clock." It made him laugh, he couldn't help it, and they stared at one another, across such a distance for how very close they were. After a moment, he nodded, and she stepped back, moved slowly back to the table, and plucked a tissue to dab at her eyes. Steve watched her, watched the way she moved and the curves and angles of her body, and decided then and there that she was Peggy, without a doubt, and nothing - _nothing_ \- was ever going to change that.

Music put away, Peggy back at her chair, she insisted on hugging him before he made his way out.

"Saturday. One o'clock," she whispered, and he nodded. With one last glance, a lingering touch, she reluctantly let him go, and Amelia stopped him at the door to quietly offer her own thanks.

"Mister," she stated, tears glistening in her own eyes through a smile that, Steve noticed, looked quite a bit like Peggy's own, "I don't care who you are. I've _never_ seen her smile like that. _Thank you._ " And, just like Peggy, she touched his arm, gently, briefly, leaving him reluctantly there as she shut the door behind her.

The sun was shining when Steve tilted his head back to gaze at the sky, clouds drifting soft and grey across it. It was still New York, and she was still Peggy, and whatever life and the world had changed, he would always be Steve Rogers: the man who kept his promises.


End file.
